


this is a bad idea, darling, let's do it

by DearTheodosia (DapperMuffin)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Fluff, Hangover, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Top Surgery Scars, Trans Alexander Hamilton, implied tho, it gets a little steamy, its not that important but its mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperMuffin/pseuds/DearTheodosia
Summary: Alexander wakes up with a headache, a hangover, and no memory of the night before, and, to his horror, there's someone else in his bed.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, John Laurens/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	this is a bad idea, darling, let's do it

**Author's Note:**

> are there like 20 other fics with a similar premise? yes. did i write this anyway? also yes.

Alexander wakes slowly, hating his very existence with every fiber of his being. His head pounds, and he snuggles into the warmth of the person beside him in the hopes that it'll ease his pain some.

Wait, what?

Alexander opens his eyes far too quickly and winces at what little light penetrates the curtains. He blinks a few times until he can make out the form of none other than Thomas Jefferson beside him.

In a brief, fleeting state of pure panic, he throws himself to the edge of the bed, as far away from Jefferson as possible.

Of fucking course. Of course. Out of anyone it could’ve been, it had to be Jefferson. That will surely only add to his headache.

“Oh my god, my head hurts,” comes Jefferson’s voice from behind Alexander, slurred from sleep and with more of a rumble to it than it has any right to have. “What happened? Am I hungover?” Alexander stays perfectly still, hoping desperately that Jefferson will think he’s sleeping, or, even better, ignore him completely. “Wait, _Hamilton?”_ No such luck. “I know you’re not asleep.”

“Hi,” says Alexander, cursing both his luck and Drunk Alexander from the previous night. He really should know better by now than to drink at parties (which is what he’s _assuming_ happened), considering it always gets him into trouble and situations he’d rather just avoid.

“What happened?” Jefferson asks again, sounding at least as confused as Alexander feels. Good. Let him be confused.

“I know just as much as you do. That is to say, I don’t remember shit, jackass. Now get out of my bed and go make me coffee.” Alexander is bluffing. He’s completely and totally bluffing. He has no idea what to do. What do you do when you wake up with a headache, a hangover, and zero memories from the previous night, in bed next to your mortal enemy?

“As I’m guessing this is your house,” Jefferson says, “wouldn’t it make more sense for you to make yourself coffee, considering you know how to make it?”

Alexander grumbles, but unfortunately, Jefferson has a point. “Fine. I’m going to make coffee, but you have to come with me. I’m not going to let you stay in my bed. Who knows what kind of perverted shit you might do if I leave you alone?”

“You think so little of me,” Jefferson remarks drily. Alexander ignores him, throwing off the covers as he stands. When he glances back at Jefferson, the other man’s eyes are averted. “You’re not wearing any pants.” Jefferson sounds embarrassed, and, sure enough, Alexander looks down to see he is not, in fact, wearing pants, although thankfully he is wearing boxers.

Alexander is also wearing a button-up shirt he’s never seen before in a few sizes too large, and it’s painfully obvious that Jefferson isn’t wearing a shirt at all. Which means…

“Are you wearing my shirt?” Jefferson asks, voice strangled.

“I… I think so,” Alexander says, more shaken up than he’d like to admit.

It’s worse than he thought. _Sleeping in the same bed while drunk_ doesn’t always immediately equal _fucking,_ and he could have easily dismissed the idea with a derisive laugh, except… this is pretty solid evidence, isn’t it?

Alexander promptly and pointedly decides to ignore Jefferson, rejecting three pairs of pants in his drawer before settling on a pair that doesn’t show off his ass because _this is Jefferson for fuck’s sake._

“You’d better not be staring at my ass,” he calls, struggling to put on pants because, cut him a break, he hasn’t had his coffee yet.

“Trust me, I’m not,” Jefferson says, sounding a little too _amused_ at the thought, and Alexander almost gets offended before he remembers this is Jefferson he’s talking to.

“Of course you’re not.” Alexander finally manages to zip his fly, turning around to see that Jefferson is not, actually, looking at him, but rather staring at his phone, which he must’ve found somewhere. He locates his own phone on the bedside table while Jefferson is distracted, pocketing it. “Come on, asshole, let’s go have coffee and some food. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Jefferson follows Alexander down the stairs, but not without a gratuitous amount of eyerolling. Alexander’s starting to regret not telling Jefferson to put a shirt on when he turns around without warning and his entire face nearly collides with Jefferson’s bare chest. (He could pretend to retch, but right now he needs coffee more than he wants to frustrate Jefferson.)

Alexander takes a sip, letting out a refreshed noise, and Jefferson wrinkles his nose. “What is that?”

“It’s coffee. Why, are you too rich to know what coffee is?” Alexander smirks at Jefferson. “Do you stand in line for the coffeemaker in the office just to look cool?”

“I _know_ what coffee is,” Jefferson says, and Alexander admires his patience, although he doesn’t care for it very much because Jefferson isn’t immediately snapping back at him. “But I’m not sure you do.” He glares at the offending mug, and Alexander scoffs.

“Excuse you, I definitely know what coffee is. Just because I don’t drink your $50 fancy-shmancy coffee doesn’t mean I don’t understand _quality.”_ He sniffs haughtily.

“I don’t think anything I’ve ever owned would count as, uh, ‘fancy-shmancy.’” Jefferson even does the air quotes to match. “Forgive me if I don’t think that garbage you’re drinking counts as coffee. I can smell it from here.”

“Sure you don’t want any?” Jefferson’s wrinkled nose is answer enough, and Alexander shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He then proceeds to slurp his coffee in the most obnoxious way possible, if only to see Jefferson silently planning murder in his direction. (It’s worth it every time.)

“Are you sure you’re not just avoiding the subject?” Jefferson looks better than he has any right to, leaning against Alexander’s kitchen counter as though he has no cares in the world. And, hell, he probably doesn’t. He’s got so much money that Alexander isn’t even sure he needs to work. He could just retire now and live out the rest of his days in bliss, never having to do anything himself ever again.

“What subject?” Alexander’s eyes narrow.

Jefferson sighs. “The reason why I woke up in your bed this morning. You, Alexander Hamilton. Your bed. Me, Thomas Jefferson. _Your bed.”_

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m a child who wouldn’t understand,” Alexander splutters, despite the conspicuous blush spreading across his cheeks at the mere thought of anything between them.

“Don’t I?” Jefferson stares infuriatingly at Alexander as if daring him to say something, _do_ something, and Alexander resists the urge to fucking tackle him. Not when he’s shirtless. But… maybe later. Strangling him, though, is still on the table.

“Oh my god, this is why we can’t have a civil conversation.” Alexander drops his head back, letting it rest on the cabinet behind him that he’s just tall enough to rest his head against.

“Me?” Jefferson’s mouth hangs open in outrage. “You think _I’m_ the problem here? No, it’s clearly you, because I can’t even go five steps in the office without you calling me an asshole or starting a fight! You’re like a feral cat, hackles raised and tense all the time! I never know how to deal with you, and somehow, _somehow,_ you always convince me to stoop to your level! It’s infuriating, and… and…” He trails off, looking at Alexander in confusion.

Alexander, meanwhile, hadn’t consciously been aware of the fact he’d stepped closer to Jefferson, and he startles as he realizes how close he is. He can see the flecks of gold or maybe green in Jefferson’s eyes. Huh. He’d never noticed that before. Guess he hadn’t ever gotten close enough.

“Hamilton, what are you doing?” Jefferson asks, voice hushed, and Alexander can almost feel Jefferson’s breath on his face.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think I want to kiss you, asshole,” Alexander says, equally as quiet. Jefferson hesitates—Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if he was weighing the pros and cons of kissing his mortal enemy in his head—before sighing with closed eyes and then, finally, nodding.

Alexander surges up, and the moment his lips connect with Jefferson’s, he knows this is _good,_ so good, and he hates it so much. His hands find a place on Jefferson’s jaw and in his hair, and Jefferson pulls Alexander closer at the waist.

“I hate you,” Alexander mutters the second they pull apart, but the second he looks at Jefferson, _really_ looks, he stops.

Jefferson’s eyes are wide, his swollen lips parted as he looks back at Alexander. And Alexander, well…

“I don’t know what to make of you.”

At first, Alexander thinks he must’ve spoken his thoughts aloud, but then he realizes that the words had come from Jefferson himself. Jefferson’s hands are still at Alexander’s waist, he thinks a little dazedly.

“What do you mean?” Alexander asks, feeling vulnerable (he hates it).

“You claim to hate me, but I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m distracted,” Jefferson says. There's a little smirk gracing his lips, and, for once, Alexander finds he doesn't hate it. "I really thought you were going to deny anything happened last night." He almost sounds… a little hurt at the thought, but that can't be it.

"Why, would you have been disappointed?" Alexander teases, and Jefferson doesn't speak, but something in his facial expression gives him away. _"Oh._ I meant that as a joke. Shit."

"It's alright," Jefferson says, but Alexander won't stand for that.

"Is it? Is it alright?" he asks, and Jefferson stops. Alexander cups Jefferson's face in his hands, and Jefferson softens.

"Look. Maybe I would have been disappointed." His voice is as soft as his gaze is. Alexander can't take much more of this. "I'm starting to remember bits and pieces of last night. But, Alex?" The nickname rolls off his tongue with far too much ease, and Alexander wants to kiss him again, more than anything—but he lets him finish. "I know we're not an 'us,' by any means, and we kissed for the first time last night, but… I'd be devastated to leave here today and find out nothing had changed."

Something clicks. "Wait, yesterday?" Alexander asks. “Did we get drunk and make out at a party?” Thomas has turned bright red and refuses to speak, so Alexander calls the person most into everyone’s business. The one most likely to know what he’d been doing last night. The one with the best memory for a drunk person he’s ever met. The one most likely to have invited alcohol into the equation in the first place.

“Lafayette,” Alexander says before Laf can even get a word in edgewise. Thomas’ eyes widen, but he doesn’t interrupt, just glares at Alexander, who is noticeably no longer pressed up against him. (He’s equal parts mad about Alexander calling Lafayette for information and because Alexander is no longer within kissing range.)

“Hello?” Lafayette says, and Alexander takes the moment to put the call on speakerphone. He starts for the doorway, beckoning for Thomas to follow, and he does. “Alexander?”

“Hi,” Alexander says. “Just curious, how’s your hangover?”

“Not that bad,” Laf says. “There’s a mild headache, but it could be worse. Pourquoi?”

“Just checking.”

Thomas frowns. Alexander is leading him up the stairs, back toward his bedroom, for reasons unknown to anyone but Alexander.

“So what do you remember from last night?” Alexander asks, pushing open the door to his bedroom. He beckons frantically at Thomas like he’s a dog until he enters.

“So I went straight for the alcohol,” Laf recounts. “J’avais a few drinks, tu comprends, and then I made out with Hercules a bit—”

“No, I meant about me. And my actions last night. Since I don’t remember a thing.” Alexander sets down the phone, fumbling with the buttons of the much too large shirt and biting back curses. (Which is adorable.) He’s so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice Thomas smiling at him like he’s the sun.

“Let me think.” There’s a couple of quiet noises from the other end of the line. “Hercules is asleep, and I don’t want to wake him. I really only saw you toward the beginning of the party, mon ami, halfway through you vanished. I think I saw you leaving with someone, mais I don’t know who.”

“And… what about Jefferson?” Alexander has won his fight with the buttons, thrusting Thomas’ wadded-up shirt into his hands, and Thomas takes the cue to put on a shirt. Alexander stands with his arms crossed a little too tensely over his chest while he waits for Thomas to take the shirt, and the moment Thomas takes his shirt, Alexander turns away to look for a clean shirt of his own.

Huh. It doesn’t really matter, but Thomas might ask about it later.

“Thomas? Well, it’s about the same, he got here early and left halfway through. Wait, why are you asking about Thomas?” Their tone has turned playful, and Alexander’s glances at Thomas can be interpreted as “help me.” Thomas just shrugs, knowing that Laf is just one of those people who _will_ find out sooner than later, one way or the other. “Is Thomas there?”

“Hi, Laf,” Thomas says, and Alexander groans. They can practically hear Laf’s silent glee.

  
  


“Did you two…?”

“Probably,” says Alexander too quickly.

“We at least made out, I can tell you that much.” Thomas smirks, and, was Alexander not currently struggling to pull a gray sweater over his head, he would have either slapped or kissed Thomas’ pretty face.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone then,” Laf says suggestively. (The wiggled eyebrows are implied.) They hang up, and Alexander, having won his fight against the sweater, plops down on the bed next to Thomas, so hard Thomas feels the mattress dip.

“That was the worst,” Alexander says. Thomas is distracted by all of Alexander’s flyaway hairs and the urge to smooth them.

“How so?” Thomas teases, making sure to get up close and personal.

Alexander narrows his eyes. “You’re an asshole.” With that, he kisses Thomas again. _Thoroughly._

“I am,” Thomas says, a bit breathless. “But you love me.”

Alexander pauses, the expression on his face a profound mixture of perplexion and wonder. “I do,” he says after a moment, looking up at Thomas with what can only be called awe, and Thomas’ heart skips a beat.

“You do?” He hears the words leaving his mouth, but he doesn’t remember speaking them, too focused on Alexander, Alexander, _Alexander._

“I love you, Thomas Jefferson,” Alexander says, and no sooner does he finish than he’s pulled into an embrace.

“I love you too,” Thomas says from somewhere close to his ear.

“Are you going to cry?” Alexander asks, knowing full well he’s a hypocrite.

“I won’t if you won’t,” Thomas says.

“ _I_ won’t if _you_ won’t,” Alexander says, laughing.

“Fine, we can cry together then,” Thomas says, and to Alexander, that sounds nice.

Alexander can’t help but kiss Thomas again, and yes, it’s very wet, but neither of them mind that very much.

Neither of them hear someone fumbling with a key outside the front door, nor someone ascending the steps, until John Laurens is right in the doorway and Alexander jolts away from Thomas.

“Hi,” Alexander says.

“Hi,” John says. Eliza’s right behind him, and they’re holding hands. “Do I want to know what sort of weird mating ritual this is?”

Alexander splutters. “It’s not a—a _mating ritual,”_ he says, wiping at his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I just check in with my best friend?” John says. “I didn’t have much of a hangover” (he never does) “and I wanted to see how you were feeling. I _didn’t_ want to see _that.”_

“Laurens, get to the point,” Thomas scoffs, and John rolls his eyes. (To be honest, Alexander is a little nervous they won’t get along. At all. They’re two very different people, and Alexander has spent a great deal of time telling John how much he hates Thomas.)

“Are you dating?” Eliza asks, eyes twinkling, and while a nosy Eliza isn’t the best, Alexander still prefers this to whatever John had been about to say before she spoke.

“I… think so?” Alexander looks to Thomas, who shrugs. “I think so. Why?”

Eliza crosses her arms. “Mr. Jefferson, convince us: why do you think you should be allowed to date Alexander?”

_“Allowed?”_ cries Alexander. He’s promptly ignored.

“Well… I love him,” Thomas says. “That’s why we were crying, actually. Because he told me he loves me, and I told him I love him too.” Alexander sneaks a glance at Eliza—she seems half-convinced. “Also, as cheesy as this is going to sound, he makes me a better person.”

“I do?” Alexander asks.

Thomas laughs, cupping Alexander’s cheek with his hand. “You do. I wasn’t always pretending to be an asshole, not at first, that was real. But it _has_ been pretending for quite a while. Not to mention that, if I wasn’t allowed to be with you, Alex, let’s just say I wouldn’t be very well off.”

“Okay, you have my blessing,” Eliza says, giving a very grateful Thomas a thumbs up.

John’s head snaps around to look at her. “What?”

Eliza rolls her eyes. “I only said he has _my_ blessing, not that he has _yours._ That’s still up to you, dear.”

“Oh,” John says.

“I didn’t know you were this fiery,” Thomas says. “Around the office, you seem so quiet.”

“I have to be fiery, to keep up with these two.” She nods at Alexander and nudges John with her hip. “I’ve learned to adapt.”

“I think I like you,” Thomas says.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Eliza says.

O miracle of miracles, they’re getting along. Now if only John would get on board as well…

“Why should I trust you?” John asks, eyes narrowed in Thomas’ direction.

“Well, for one, I’m in love with your best friend,” Thomas says, and Alexander knows he’s gazing at Thomas like an infatuated teenager but at the same time he doesn’t see why he should stop. “Second, I’m not actually an asshole. I’m not homophobic and I’m not transphobic.” _Oh._ “Third, you won’t have to start calling me Thomas if we start getting along.”

John still glares suspiciously at Thomas. “Fine, you can date Alexander. But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Thomas shrugs. “That’s fine. I’m not going to hurt him or anything, I wouldn’t even think of it.”

“‘Cause you love me?” Alexander asks innocently, and Thomas sighs with a smile.

“‘Cause I love you, sweetheart,” Thomas says, and Alexander turns red and pulls Thomas down by the shirt collar into another kiss.

John pretends to gag, and Eliza stabs him with her elbow. “Ow,” John mutters, rubbing his side where she’d wounded him.

“Shut up, they’re cute,” Eliza says. John still looks doubtful. “Come on, you know we were like that when we first got together.”

John sighs. “Okay, fine, you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“Of course you are,” he echoes more quietly, and when she’s not looking, he smiles at her like she’s the light of his life.

“I think we’ll be leaving now,” Eliza says once Thomas and Alexander have finished with their (slightly too long for in public) kiss. “You both seem to be in good hands.”

“Thanks for checking on me,” Alexander says. “You were probably right to do that, considering last time.”

“Yeah, last time…” John shudders, and Eliza looks mildly traumatized. Thomas looks between the three of them in confusion, but they never do explain, just move on.

“Bye, Lex, see you later,” John says. He and Eliza wave a little, and Thomas listens to them descend the stairs before speaking.

“First of all, I didn’t bring it up earlier, but when you were changing your shirt…?”

“Yes, those are top surgery scars, what about them?” Alexander wraps his arms around himself protectively, and Thomas’ heart aches to wrap his own arms around Alexander as well, to pull him close.

“Nothing, I was just curious,” Thomas says in the gentlest voice he can manage. It seems to work a little, because Alexander’s arms loosen. “I don’t see anything wrong with you being trans, and it doesn’t change a thing.”

“Really?” Alexander asks, seeming so vulnerable and disbelieving that it hurts Thomas.

“Yes,” Thomas says. “I promise. I love you.” Alexander’s arms aren’t wrapped around himself anymore, and Thomas takes Alexander’s hands in his own. “I said earlier I’m not a transphobe.”

“I know, but…” Alexander bites his lip. “I’ve had some bad experiences in the past.”

“I understand that.” Thomas brushes back some of Alexander’s hair that had fallen in his face. “This is not going to be one of them. I wouldn’t hold something you _can’t control_ against you, darling.”

Alexander hugs Thomas. “Thank you,” he says, muffled by Thomas’ shirt, which is a little on the thin side and he can feel the warmth through the fabric.

“Anything for you,” he says softly. It’s true. He’d do anything, _anything,_ for the small man in front of him.

“I got so lucky,” Alexander says. “I mean, imagine dating you?”

Thomas makes a face. “I know I’m perfect, Lex, but I’m not sure I could avoid arguing with me.”

Alexander shoves him. “What do you mean? You’d get along perfectly with you, because nobody else would be able to stand somebody so annoying!”

“Not even you?” Thomas asks, deploying his secret weapon, and Alexander’s eyes widen at the sight of Thomas’ puppy eyes.

“No, I think I might be able to stand you,” Alexander says quickly. “In fact… I could do more than stand you.” And Thomas suddenly understands why himself from last night had agreed so instantly to Alexander’s advances.

“Oh?” he breathes.

In an instant, Alexander has him pressed up against the bed, and Thomas smirks up at him. “What are you going to do to me?”

Alexander rolls his eyes, kissing Thomas with surprising ease. And it’s good. Again, it’s so, _so_ good.

But… one thing could stand to change.

“What, aren’t you satisfied, _darling?”_ Alexander asks, and Thomas grins.

“Not quite.”

Before Alexander even registers what’s happening, now _he’s_ the one pinned against the bed, and Thomas is straddling his hips.

“Alex, honey, you’re not the top in this relationship, I’m sorry,” Thomas says, and Alexander hates him. (That’s a lie.) “You’re more of a power bottom, if you get my meaning.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Alexander echoes Thomas’ words from moments before.

“What do you _want_ me to do?” Thomas says, and Alexander shivers.

“Anything.”

* * *

Thomas doesn’t stay over that night, because, unfortunately, despite all of Alexander’s loudly voiced complaints, they both have work tomorrow, and Thomas needs a clean change of clothes (and his 5’6 boyfriend’s clothes are far too small for his 6’2 self).

Luckily, Alexander is able to fall asleep without the help of sleep meds for once. He dreams—what about, he’s not sure, but he wakes up feeling refreshed and ready to work.

Alexander thinks about Thomas the entire commute, and he practically bounces on the balls of his feet into the break room.

There he is!

Thomas stands at the end of the line for coffee, reading something on his phone. Alexander bounds over, grabbing his hand and entwining their fingers, and Thomas brightens instantly.

“Hey, babe.” Alexander leans up on his tiptoes to kiss Thomas on the cheek, and Thomas beams at him.

“Hey, darling,” Thomas says, and Alexander grins.

“Waiting in line for average coffee again?” he asks. “I’m surprised you didn’t stop by Starbucks on the way to the office.”

“I didn’t have time.” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay, it kind of grows on you. It’s not that bad.”

“Did the Great Thomas Jefferson just admit to liking mediocre, non-$50 coffee?” Alexander says. “This should be on the news!”

“Shut up.” Thomas rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, what is this?” asks Burr, who’s just gotten in line behind Alexander.

“We’re holding hands,” Alexander says, like it’s so incredibly obvious. Which it is.

“Yes, I can _see_ that,” Burr says. “But _why?”_

“We’re dating,” Alexander says, looking at Burr, so he’s taken by surprise when Thomas kisses the top of his head, and he makes a small mewling noise that makes Thomas almost melt on the spot.

“You’re dating?” Burr asks. He raises an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed.

“We’re dating,” Thomas says matter-of-factly, head resting on top of Alexander’s.

“Well, I don’t care if you’re dating or not, but it’s your turn to get coffee, Jefferson,” Burr says.

Sure enough, the person who’d been in front of Thomas had left a few seconds ago. Thomas disentangles his fingers from Alexander’s, pressing another kiss to the top of Alexander’s head. They don’t talk while Thomas waits for his coffee, and as soon as the coffeemaker beeps, he grabs his mug and walks over to two of the three Schuyler sisters, who have been staring and whispering since Alexander walked in this morning.

“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Thomas remarks conversationally, blowing on his coffee.

“Are you kidding me?” Angelica asks, arms crossed. “What the hell was that?”

“We were holding hands,” Thomas says. “Is that not allowed?”

“Are you dating?” Peggy says, as though she’d been just bursting to ask. She bounces on the balls of her feet.

“Yes,” Thomas says smugly, and Peggy gasps.

“I’m sorry, but that’s adorable,” she says. “Enemies to lovers, 5k words.”

“What are you talking about?” Angelica says.

“It’s like fanfiction,” Peggy says.

“My life is not a fanfiction,” Thomas says vehemently.

“Did you two get drunk at the party and start making out?” Peggy asks.

Huh.

“Yes,” Thomas says.

“Typical fanfic material,” she singsongs.

“Hey.” Alexander, now next to Thomas, blows gently on his coffee, and Thomas wraps his arm around Alexander.

“Oh, thank god, dear, you’ve come to save me,” he says.

“Are the Schuylers bothering you about our relationship?” Alexander asks, knowing the answer but wanting to hear Thomas talk.

“Did you even have to ask?”

Peggy’s eyes have narrowed in on something, and she elbows Angelica.

“Ow,” Angelica says. “What?”

“Angie, Angie, look.” Peggy uses her eyes to guide Angelica to what she’s looking at, and Angelica squints for a moment.

“Is that a _hickey?”_ she asks, and Alexander chokes.

“Shit, you okay?” Thomas asks. Alexander holds up his hand, and Thomas reluctantly stands by until Alexander stops coughing.

“I’m fine,” Alexander says a little hoarsely, taking a cautious sip of coffee to lubricate his throat.

“That’s a hickey,” Peggy says.

“Yes,” Alexander says, carefully blank.

“Sorry, what?” Thomas asks. “Did I…?”

“You gave me a hickey, babe, it’s fine,” Alexander says, far too casual for someone admitting that his hickey is on display for the entire office. “I couldn’t figure out how to hide it, and it’s not like I really own any concealer.”

“You didn’t realize?” Angelica asks.

“You know what, shut up, Angelica,” Thomas says. “This doesn’t concern you.” He checks his watch. “Come on, Alex, let’s get to our offices, it’s almost eight thirty.” They walk off together, and the two Schuyler sisters watch them go.

“I swear they’re living a fanfic,” Peggy whispers.

Thomas and Alexander have stopped in the hallway later, Thomas’ head resting on Alexander’s, his arms wrapped around Alexander from behind, when they run into Lafayette and their boyfriend, Hercules.

Laf grins when they see Thomas and Alexander. “Bonjour, mes amis! Vous êtes très mignons ensemble.”

Herc, meanwhile, stares. “I’m sorry, what? Was anyone going to tell me about… whatever this is?”

“You were gonna find out like everyone else,” Alexander says. He shrugs. “I like Thomas. We’re going out.”

“Okay.” Herc takes a few deep breaths, which Alexander thinks is a touch melodramatic. “I guess I can allow… this.” He gestures vaguely to the both of them. “But I am his mother, and if you hurt him, I hurt you.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Thomas says. “I like him too much for that.” He presses a kiss to Alexander’s temple, and Alexander giggles, actually giggles, he never does that. "So if you're his mom, does that make you his ren?" he asks Laf.

"I suppose it would," Laf says. "I didn't know you knew the term."

"Laf, you're one of my closest friends," Thomas says. "Of course I'm going to research terms for nonbinary people." Laf smiles.

“Very well. You can date Alex,” Herc says, and Laf takes his hand.

“Viens, mon amour,” Laf says gently. “We were going somewhere, remember?” They turn to Thomas and Alexander. “À plus tard, mes amis!” They leave with their boyfriend, and Thomas and Alexander continue on their way.

Probably the last person in the office to know is Washington. He stumbles in upon them in the break room, and they jump apart as if they weren’t just kissing.

Washington raises an eyebrow. “Is this a new development?” Alexander nods mutely, and Washington sighs. “All I’m allowed to do is request that you refrain from kissing in the office building during work hours. Got it?” Alexander nods again. “I just came for a donut, so I’m going to get that and go.” Washington wraps a donut in a napkin and carries it out of the room, and only once they’re alone do they dissolve into laughter.

“I can’t _believe_ he saw us kissing,” Alexander says.

“Out of anyone, it had to be our boss,” Thomas agrees. He sighs. His hands sitting comfortably at Alexander’s waist, keeping Alexander close. “That was the worst, but since you’re here, I don’t mind it as much.”

“I love you,” Alexander says, large green eyes gazing up at Thomas, and Thomas rests his forehead against Alexander’s.

“I love you too,” Thomas says. “I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

Washington isn’t here to see if they share one more small, sweet kiss before returning to their respective offices to _work,_ and definitely not to text each other under their desks and muffle their laughter with their hands.

(Thomas isn’t looking forward to telling James, but that can wait, because James is unfortunately sick. Later that day, he’ll go to visit and take care of James. He’ll accidentally call Hamilton “Alexander” in front of James, and James won’t let it slide, and he'll get a small telling off from his best friend that he'll absolutely deserve. But work doesn’t get out for hours, so he’s safe, _for now._ )

**Author's Note:**

> quick translation guide:  
> pourquoi?: why?  
> j'avais: i had  
> tu comprends: you understand  
> mon ami: my friend  
> bonjour, mes amis: hello, my friends  
> vous etes tres mignons ensemble: you are very cute together  
> viens, mon amour: come, my love  
> a plus tard: see you later


End file.
